In the Beginning
by petrichor2
Summary: The path to love is never easy. Gawain/OC, set pre movie
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: for fun not profit. No copyright infringement intended.**

When Gawain was a little boy the winters were cold.  
Cold enough to freeze the water, chill the blood and make each moment between waking and dressing himself an ordeal. That was a long time ago however, when he was a boy not a man. When to be called Samartian was an honour and not a death sentence. But despite the discomfort he had suffered then, those days seemed almost blissful given his current situation.  
Rolling onto his back, Gawain bit his lip hard in an attempt not to cry out in pain as the arrow buried in his shoulder scraped against the ground. Bringing any attention to himself was tantamount to a death sentence and he had no desire to die out here in the mountains. Looking up from the rocky hollow that his mount had unceremoniously dumped him in, Gawain watched his bay mare trot daintily through the snow and disappear into the very forest that sheltered the Woads who had tried to kill them both a few minutes ago.  
_" I hope they make you into stew," _he thought fuzzily. The cold and pain was doing funny things with his mind, and he frowned and tried to concentrate.  
First things first. _Get out of sight.  
_That was an interesting proposition given that he was currently freezing to death on a mountainside, his blood seeping into the snow and serving as a literal red flag to the Woads who were trying to hunt him down and make him into… _What was the latest story going around the soldiers' barracks? _Gawain rubbed his uninjured hand against his face and tried to remember. Some sort of pagan ritual involving bloodshed and unnatural cruelty no doubt.  
His commander and fellow knights were most likely looking for him, but due to his own stupidity there was little chance that he would be found. The "shortcut" he had taken was obviously little used and the snow would have obliterated any tracks. Dropping his head back down onto the snowy heather, Gawain took a deep breath before struggling to his feet. His shoulder burned with a pain that was at odds with the numbness of his hands and feet and his hair flopped into his eyes as he trudged across the moor, but he kept himself moving by sheer force of will. It was his own fault that he had gotten lost, and if he was going to give his life to the Romans then it would be in battle, not freezing to death on a moor before he had even seen eighteen summers.  
The terrain was uneven and the path he followed almost nonexistent, but keeping his head down as the wind whipped his hair around his face, Gawain put one foot in front of the other and headed in the general direction of the town that he remembered passing through the day before. The people hadn't seemed to be overjoyed at the appearance of Arthur and his knights, but then they hadn't been actively hostile either and that had made a welcome change. They probably wouldn't shoot him in the back anyway.  
Glancing behind him, Gawain scanned the terrain. The snow had started falling but it was fairly light, and even though the sun was setting no-one was following him that he could see. Far ahead the glow of what had to be candle light flickered and he tried to hurry towards it.  
"Hey, wait, be careful…"  
The words came from a woman, but turning, Gawain slipped and fell before he could see her. For a moment it seemed as though he hung in the air before the path he was walking disintegrated and he tumbled down the hill bordering the path and slammed against a tree. Dazed, he swore as pain ripped through him and the arrow in his shoulder ground against his collarbone. Unconsciousness was swift, sweet and entirely welcome.

* * *

"He looks filthy."  
"Is he dead?..."  
"_Do you think he's dead_? He's breathing you idiot!"  
Sacha could just feel Yanna rolling her eyes at her.  
The girl behind her pushed Sacha aside and walked towards the bloody lump lying underneath the coppice.  
"What do you see?" she shouted down the hill.  
"Don't touch it!" another girl shrieked.  
Sacha watched Yanna move closer to the, she now noticed, young man.  
"I need some light!...anyone?" Yanna shouted up the steep hill.  
Sacha quickly took her lantern and stumbled down to her friend, slipping in the mud and desperately trying not to drop the light as she had done a few nights earlier.  
When she reached Yanna and the body under the trees, she took a proper look at the man, and prodded her foot in his side experimentally.  
"Hey!...you alive?" Her voice was lost in the cold winter wind, and when she turned around to Yanna, she'd taken a few steps back, afraid of the bleeding man.  
"And?" the voice of one of the girls came from above. "Should I go and find someone?"  
Yanna struggled back up to the path. "I'll get Da."  
'_Great, now I'm stuck here with this idiot..' _Sacha thought to herself.  
She prodded the man repeatedly in his ribs. No reaction.  
"Oi, mate…Oi!" kneeling down she shook his shoulders, trying to wake him.  
_He was probably some drunk who tumbled down in a state of semi-consciousness after drinking too much ale_, she thought to herself.  
She should have never called out to him, she should have known he was just some lowlife town drunk who had gotten lost on the way back home.  
She and her friends should not have gone out so late to go see if the stories and rumours were true.  
She should have stayed under her furs and she should not have been so damn nosy.  
There were no knights as they had hoped to find - not here anyway.  
And now Yanna had gone to get her father, and they would all be punished for sneaking out in the middle of the night, _and_ getting involved with the local tosser who had passed out inconveniently in front of them.  
While waiting for Yanna´s father she got down on her knees next to the man, soaking her skirt in the process.  
Just when she tried to see where the blood came from she accidentally whacked her knee against his nose and the man groaned in protest. Snapping his eyes open, he coughed and a small river of blood ran from his nose over his mouth.  
Sacha quickly stumbled backwards, toppling over a rock at her heels and landing on her back with a loud shriek.  
She just lay there for a moment, afraid to get up and face blood covered man.  
Hearing the man struggle for breath, she got a little worried.  
What if she had prodded his ribs too hard and he was now dying a slow painful death coughing out his intestines?  
She sat up again and crawled on her hands and knees through the snow, towards the whimpering man.  
"hello..?" she whispered close to where she thought his ear would be.  
The hairy man just groaned.  
A large amount of tangled, sweaty curls lied sprawled next to his head.  
On his forehead she could see a dark shadow, maybe mud, maybe blood.  
The man's breath came out in short pained huffs.  
Sasha wished she'd just stayed in bed, then she wouldn't be sitting next to this probably dying man.  
The gods knew where he came from.  
What would people say if they heard the stories tomorrow?  
All of a sudden the hairy man coughed sharply into the night air and her heart stopped.  
'what if he died?' What would people think? Would they think she'd killed him?  
She had to get out of there, run, flee, go!  
The man gurgled again, and she suddenly realized how young he actually looked.  
He turned his head in her direction, his body moving towards hers.  
Something gleamed in the single beam of moonlight coming through the canopy above them.  
A knife, a very big knife.  
She recognized it to be a sword, just like the ones her father and brothers owned.  
So, this smelly sod was a fighter now?  
Sacha saw the blood from the fractured nose she just gave him was dripping into his slightly agape mouth.  
"I am very sorry" she tried again.  
The man just looked at her with clouded eyes, a pained expression on his face.  
Without hesitating Sacha began to wipe the blood away from his lips with her thumb.  
Her hand was getting covered in blood, and she hoisted up the hem of her skirt to stop the bleeding by pressing it gently against his face.  
At the same moment Yanna and her father came thundering down into the bushes.  
Osgar, Yanna´s father, pushed past her and hastily examined the man.  
"what have you done to him?" he hissed in Sacha's direction.  
She froze. Fair enough, she had a history of teasing people, following them around, pestering them, but she never went this far! She wouldn't ever hurt anyone, well not deliberately, she thought guiltily, looking at the man's bloody nose.  
She mumbled something but Osgar wasn't even listening any more, too busy trying to get the injured stranger to talk.  
Together with Yanna he heaved up the very big, young man and began to drag him up the steep hillside, scaring away all the small animals that had sheltered there from the cold, snowy night.  
Sacha's breath was forming small puffs in the freezing air while she watched Yanna's dad, an old man with an endless ginger plait, heave him up on his shoulder and drag him up towards the path.  
All the way up she noticed the man kept moaning and huffing with every step and wondered why the man he carried didn't make any effort to help himself.  
Then she saw it. She wasn't exactly sure at first, but the man being out in the moonlight now, gave everything a much clearer view.  
What she had first mistaken for a branch seemed to be an arrow, sticking out from just above his shoulder blade.

* * *

The world flickered and swayed.  
His chest crushed against the man's shoulder, too weary to fight, Gawian watched the footprints in the snow as he was carried away to who knew where. He wanted to go back. Back to the trees where one of Arthur's angels had saved him - for surely that was what she had been; all bright eyes and cold, kind fingers upon his cheek. Sent to lead him somewhere warmer, somewhere without duty or slavery. Perhaps Arthur himself had sent her... Perhaps his God had… Perhaps… The white of the snow abruptly turned to black and Gawain succumbed to blessed unconsciousness.

Gawain woke up screaming. Two men pinned him down while someone he couldn't see was apparently trying to sever his arm from his body.  
"Just yank it out Sacha", the man holding his torso down snarled. After a moment there was the yelp of an unmistakable female voice, the scrape of something against bone that left him dizzy with pain, and then, faintly through the grey haze that was the best he could do to keep consciousness, a woman's voice.  
"Got it." She sounded at once triumphant and queasy, and had he had the strength, Gawain would have turned his head to look at her. Instead he closed his eyes and waited for them to start on his next arm. Apparently the savages were set on dismembering him, and had he the power to do more than whimper he would have fought them. As it was, it was hard enough not to slide quietly into oblivion._ I won't beg though, _he thought fiercely. _I won't give them the satisfaction.  
_The expected pain did not come, however. He was lifted upwards, pressed more closely to someone broad and muscular who smelt of damp leather, but from the light touch at his back and the aching of his arm he still had all four limbs intact. The pain lessened when something cool was wrapped around his shoulder, and when he was laid back down on the soft but somewhat smelly furs, the day's previous events came back to him.  
_Woads. Bloody treacherous horse. Falling. Angel.  
_Opening his eyes he came face to face with the angel from the snow who was now looking at him with mild panic, her hair in complete disarray and her hands stained with blood.  
"Oh." Backing away, she wiped her hands nervously on her dress. "I… I er…" Looking desperately towards the door of the room, she didn't seem to know whether to stay or go.  
"You saved me," Gawain said slowly. "When I was in the snow, you found me."  
If it were possible the girl looked even more uncomfortable at that statement.  
"No." Letting out a breath she tried to look anywhere but at him. "Well yes, but it was kind of my fault." The last few words were muttered so low that Gawain didn't hear them.  
"Are you an angel?" He asked. Blood loss was making everything seem a bit fuzzy, and with the candles behind her, illuminating her skin and giving her hair a golden glow, the girl certainly looked like an envoy of Arthur's God.  
She frowned in confusion at that, before horrified realisation made her look upon him in panic.  
"Oh don't say that you're a Christian. Don't you dare. Bad enough that you're here bleeding all over the place without you dying and us not able to bury you properly." Walking over to him, she peered at his shoulder and gave him a not particularly gentle poke. "We've got enough trouble without your spirits coming back and haunting us because we didn't say the right words when we buried you." She gave him a worried look. "_Are _we supposed to bury you?"  
"Not until I'm dead." Feeling a little less dizzy but no less confused, Gawain squinted up at the girl. "From the way my shoulder feels like it's on fire and my head is pounding I think that I'm still alive."  
"Good. That's good." The girl took a step backwards and bit her lip, studying him intently. She flushed, but Gawain took it for relief that she apparently wasn't going to have to dispose of his body in the near future.  
"What's your name?" he asked.  
"Sacha," she mumbled. All of a sudden she seemed to have difficulty looking at him.  
"I'm Gawain." He attempted to give her a friendly smile which since his head was pounding and he was a little afraid that he might be sick was perhaps not as charming as it might have been. "Could you tell me where I am?"  
"Upton," she replied. "Well near enough anyway - after I made you, I mean after you fell down the hill we took you to Yanna's house. Yanna's my friend," she clarified at his confused look. "It was closest. Osgar, that's Yanna's da said we had to get this out as soon as we could." Reaching over to the table beside the bed she picked up the arrow he had been shot with. From the way she was holding it towards him it was almost as though she expected him to take it back as though it were a treasured possession.  
"Keep it," he said eventually. "Really."  
"Oh." Putting it down hastily, she flushed again, and Gawain had to stifle a smile despite his discomfort. Pretty the lass might be, but she didn't seem to be very comfortable in his company.  
"Did you take it out?" Remembering the light touch of a woman's hands upon him during the previous pain, he gestured towards the arrow and wasn't surprised when Sacha nodded in response.  
"It was in pretty deep, Osgar and my father had to hold you down. I'm sorry that I hurt you."  
"I'd be sorrier if you hadn't." Feeling very tired, Gawain tried to think of the best course of action. Arthur and his fellow men needed to know where he was, but even if he had a horse - which he didn't, and even if he could stand up without falling over - which seemed highly unlikely, he didn't actually know where they were. "Is there any way to find out where the nearest Roman patrols are?" he asked wearily.  
Sacha looked confused, but after a moment's thought replied. "I could ask Alexion - he's half Roman, he's in charge of things in this village and the next, but why do you want to know?"  
"He needs to tell Arthur, commander of the Samatian knights that you have Gawain."  
"You're a knight?" Gawain had closed his eyes so he couldn't see the expression on the girl's face, but the incredulous tone of her voice spoke volumes. Had he been more alert, and had he not been so tired he might have been a little insulted at her words, but as it was oblivion claimed him before he had a chance to say anything else.

* * *

As soon as the man who called himself Gawain sunk back into himself, Sacha scrambled to her feet and fled from the room.  
Outside she stood, panting lightly in the early morning light.  
It was cold, and her feet and hands were slowly starting to lose their colour, thank the gods, so was her face.  
This wasn´t like her, to lose her wit and blush like a giddy…, whatever it was that was giddy these days.  
She had to admit the boy, man, knight, _was_ attractive, no doubt about that, but he was just a bit too proud.  
Proud? Was that the right word?  
She sighed and pulled her cloak a bit tighter around herself, no point in going back to sleep now.  
It would be morning in a little while, and she would be expected to be back at work by then.  
So, she turned back to the cottage behind her, and decided it wouldn't hurt to make some breakfast for her mother and siblings.  
The room was still damp and cold with the faint smell of irony blood, and shallow breathing could be heard from somewhere in the dark.  
She quietly lighted a candle and poked the smouldering remains of the fire in the corner, placed some logs onto it and hung a pot of water above it.  
The man in the corner on the floor coughed, and she prayed he wouldn't wake the entire house.  
Scurrying over to him quickly she saw the light reflect on his slightly opened eyes.  
'you awake?" she asked, her voice just above a whisper.  
The man groaned and Sacha guessed that meant 'yes'.  
She came a little closer and loomed over him, he was shivering.  
She really did not want to, but outstretched her hand to feel his neck and forehead for an upcoming fever.  
Just when she was about to feel his temperature the man spoke and startled her.  
"what the hell do you think you're doing?" his voice sounded low and tired.  
She pulled back her hand and blushed.  
'what is it with this blushing?' He asked with what sounded like exasperation.  
The man looked at her intently, as if he was looking for ways to make her feel uncomfortable.  
She gave a frustrated huff. "Fine! I hope you die of fever, so I´ll be rid of you!"  
The man was quiet, but didn't look taken aback by her words at all, which frustrated Sacha even more.  
She walked over to the fire in the corner and took the hot pot from the hook, and placed it on the wobbly table next to the candle she lit earlier.  
She sure wasn't going to let this arrogant little idiot get to her.  
" I can jam that arrow back you know" she sneered at him. She turned towards him triumphantly.  
The man turned his head in her direction and in the soft light of the candle she saw him smile, SMILE!  
A cheeky grin tugged at the corners of his mouth and his eyes gleamed mischievously.  
Sachas jaw dropped and just when she was going to give this man a piece of mind he spoke again, this time a little louder.  
"we both know you won't"  
She huffed, "oh yeah?, and why's that?"  
He was silent for a while, but it wasn't an awkward silence, it was more like something filled the air.  
" what is it boy?...you lost your tongue?" 'ha! That'll teach him, snobby, little, arrogant, _knight_!'  
But his reaction was not at all what she expected.  
He simple shrugged and laid back down again, closing his eyes.  
Sacha turned back to the table and was just about to slice the bread when she heard him say "I am cold.."  
'so? Do I look like I give a damn, you're cold?!'. She wanted to say.  
Instead she rolled her eyes and went to fetch another blanket.  
When she returned to his bed with it she noticed he was smothered with furs, blankets and that he even had extra hay to lie on.  
She gave him a questioning look, and unceremoniously dumped the stack of blankets on him, trying to aim as close to his injured shoulder as she could.  
He was grinning again, this time a little broader.  
Sacha started to get really agitated at his amusement. "What now! Too many blankets?"  
He laughed out loud, the pile of blankets moving on his shaking body.  
"No,…I just really enjoy teasing you"  
Sacha huffed, her anger _and_ embarrassment getting the better of her,  
_How dare he? After she'd taken care of him, make fun of her?  
_She yanked the covers off of the young knight and grabbed his arm, pulling him up out of the bed, while he whimpered and chuckled loudly at the same time.  
"well, you can go and tease someone else!" and she pushed him towards the door.  
She expected him to, well, she didn't really know what she expected, but it sure as hell wasn't this!  
The man, dragged on her arm, the one she was still holding him with, and drove her into his body, holding onto her for dear life.  
She froze.  
he spoke "my foot…it's my foot.."  
He swayed and then took her crashing to the floor.  
She yelped and tried to grab a nearby chair but it was too late, they both landed on the floor with a dull thump.  
Sacha scrambled up on her feet and dusted herself up, her cheeks on fire.  
"sorry, sorry, sorry, I didn't mean to, well I _did_ mean it but…"  
The man's eyes twinkled, "thank you for the apologies, but can you please help me up?"  
"right, sorry,…I am so sorry,… sorry." She squatted down and outstretched her hands to haul him up.  
He took them both and before she could yank them back, kissed both her palms and wrists  
Trailing kisses on them with great precision.  
Sacha just looked at his lips who pressed down warmly on her cold hands.  
Outside the dawn was breaking and the village awoke slowly, while they sat there on the floor.  
Gawain looked up and winked. "can you help me up now?"


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: The characters of King Arthur do not belong to me.**

Gawain looked up and winked. "can you help me up now?"  
She looked as though he had asked her pull down the moon from the sky or defeat the entire Roman army armed only with a pocket knife, Gawain thought with guilty amusement. He shouldn't have been so bold; sharp tongued and hot tempered she might be, but the girl was obviously innocent in the ways of the flesh. From the conflicting emotions in her wide eyes he'd gone a little to far, a little too fast.  
Shoving himself backwards, he ignored the dizziness that made the room blur for a moment and smiled at Sacha reassuringly.  
It didn't seem to work, and for a moment he felt a pang of protective annoyance towards her. She was as easily read as one of the pictures painted on the scrolls in Arthur's quarters. No artifice, no guile, and in his world that would serve only as open invitation to be hurt or used. He was surprised then, when she seemed to gather her wits and got to her feet, primly brushing her skirts before holding out her hand.  
"Well?" She looked at him crossly when he hesitated. "If you don't want to sleep on the floor then I suggest you get up."  
Smothering a laugh, he took her hand. She swayed a little but braced herself against his weight as he got to his feet and helped him up. It took only a couple of steps for them to get back to the bed and he sank back on it gratefully. Loosening his grip, he left it up to Sacha to let go of his hands, but to his surprise she settled down next to him, leaving one dainty hand still encompassed by his calloused fingers. She tucked her legs under herself and glanced at him. Gawain could feel the tension in her grip and see the indecision in her eyes, so he remained still, waiting for her to make the first move.  
"What's it like? Being a Knight I mean?"  
She blurted the question out so quickly that it took him a moment to register what she had asked and think of a suitable reply. From her eager curiosity, it was clear that Sacha had listened to the tales told of him and his brothers. He'd heard some of the stories: some were true, some embellished, some outright lies. He hadn't paid too much attention to them, thinking only that it was a sort of comfort that his memory might live on after his eventual fall to the Woads, Saxons, or if he was particularly unlucky, a Roman officer who found some excuse to put him down like the dog most of them treated him as.  
Sacha obviously had listened to some of the more fanciful stories, and for once he was reluctant to destroy the myths that had built around deeds done not out of noble heroism but forced duty.  
"Not as heroic as some might say," he said eventually. She looked at him questioningly, but did not remove her hand from his, and Gawain gave a tired smile at the question in her eyes. "What?," he asked. "Do you think all stories are true? Am I what you expected of Arthur Castus's famous knights?"  
She shook her head and did not meet his eyes.  
"We were taken from our families when we were children, Sacha," he said quietly. "We are forced to fight for the same people who cut our families down when they tried to protect us. Depending on the stories we are either bloodthirsty savages or shining heroes; the truth is that we're just men trying to survive."  
She looked at him, and he felt something within twist at the compassion in her eyes.  
"You're better than that," she whispered. "Say what you may about stories, but my cousin lives in Dorchester and she told me himself how Arthur's knights saved them from that Saxon attack. How they took nothing for themselves afterwards even though there were pretty women and goods no-one would have dared to put up a fight for if they'd a mind to take them."  
Gawain gave a small chuckle at that. "Given my behaviour earlier, I'm surprised that you are so certain that I wouldn't take a woman against her will."  
Sacha looked at him crossly and he tried to suppress the warmth that spread through him at her indignation.  
"I've been sat next to you on this bed for ages, and you haven't laid a finger on me," she retorted. Looking down at their entwined hands, she flushed, but tilted her chin up defiantly. "Well not many fingers, and not like _that_, anyway. And anyway, it's not like I put up a fight or didn't like it, or…." Suddenly realising what she had admitted to, she gave Gawain a brief, horrified glance and tried to pull her hand away from his. He didn't let her go.  
"There is no shame in it, Sacha," he said gently. "the world holds enough cruelties without us blaming ourselves for seeking out comfort or feeling desire for another."  
She didn't say anything, but if possible her cheeks reddened further, and he tried to lighten the mood. "Come on, a pretty girl like you? It can't have been the first time anyone has kissed you."  
A look of absolute mortification crossed her face and he inwardly kicked himself. _Damn, damn, damn…_ Since he had neither Lancelot's way with words nor Galahad's charm, he gave up on trying to think of anything to say and acted on instinct. Pulling her gently towards him, he kissed her on the lips. For a moment she stiffened as though she might pull away, but when he made no attempt to force her down or prevent her from escaping, she responded. Kissing him back tentatively, her hands coming up to rest upon his shoulders. The brief flare of pain when she pressed against his wound brought him back to his senses, and Gawain let go of her reluctantly. It would be all to easy to take advantage of the girl. They were alone in a bedroom but as much as he wanted to, he couldn't bring himself to take things any further. Sacha saw him as being brave and noble, and despite himself he wanted to be. He wanted to be something more than the trained savage that most people had dismissed him as.  
She looked at him shyly and he smiled. Reaching over, she touched a lock of his hair, brushing a fingertip against his cheekbone as she did so.  
"Why are you so fair? I've only heard stories of knights with black hair."  
Gawain shrugged and immediately regretted it. Wincing, he dropped his gaze to the floor. "My mother was from the north," he said quietly. "She was brought up by my tribe, but her bloodline was most likely Saxon. I suppose I take after her." Gawain tugged his short blond locks and gave her a rueful smile. "I should cut the lot off really, it doesn't seem right to kill Saxons when I look like one."  
Sacha looked at him thoughtfully. "It's by what we do that we should be judged by, not what we look like." She moved a little closer to him and took his hand once again. "You shouldn't cut your hair, it's pretty."  
"Pretty?" Torn between amusement and outrage, Gawain found himself lost for words. "You think I'm _pretty?"  
_"Just your hair," she amended. "The rest of you is very…" She struggled to think of a suitable word. "Intimidating."  
"Wonderful. Pretty and intimidating; I've turned into Lancelot." Laying back onto the bed, he gave Sacha a rueful smile. "You should have just let me die out there in the snow."  
"Lancelot?" She looked at him questioningly, settling herself a little closer to him. "He's one of your fellow knights isn't he?"  
"Indeed." Gawain spent several minutes describing his friend and comrade, but looking down it seemed that his words were only entertaining the mice that lived in the thatch above their heads, for Sacha was fast asleep.

* * *

Sometimes time flies, this time, for Sacha feeling the soft furs beneath her, the slow breathing beside her, it did not.  
The moment before Sacha fully awoke seemed to go on and on, and when she was sure she couldn´t be laying there any longer without getting caught by her father, or worse her siblings, she very slowly cracked one eye open as if seeing if it had not all been a dream.  
Everything was still the same. Same bed, same chair, same fireplace.  
She exhaled, and yawned. Her whole body felt weary; maybe she was getting ill?  
Outside the morning had just begun, and so had the normal domestic activities.  
Horses hooves clattered somewhere in the distance, for today was market day and the whole town was busy.  
Women who had just fed their offspring were now on their way to do the weekly washing and get their fresh fruit and vegetables from the market.  
Men were on their way to their jobs; in the stables, the baker's, the smithy's, and of course the screams and laughter of children echoed around the streets.  
The sound of the children sent a pang of equal parts longing and worry, through Sacha. It wasn't unusual, indeed it was expected for women to marry young , but Sacha hadn't found a suitable husband yet, and although she knew her prospects for marriage were dwindling, she could not bring herself to marry a man that she did not love. Perhaps both love and children might be comforts that she would not experience…  
Sacha stood, and walked over to open the shutters, letting the cold frosty morning air in.  
Standing there, watching out over the marketplace her brothers stumbled down from the hayloft.  
Sacha found it strange that none of her siblings, not even her parents had noticed her encounter with Gawain the previous night.  
Strange than no one had seen them sharing a kiss, sleeping next to each other on the cot….  
_'not that I wanted them to see, but still…' _She thought to herself, her cheeks flushing at the memory of Gawain's kiss.  
Her reddened face was somewhat cooled by a cold gush of wind that came flying into the small cottage.  
It seemed that on the exterior nothing had changed, but on the interior of her life it felt like everything was propelled around, and then thrown back together again.  
She sighed, not noticing her three brothers were pulling her skirts complaining why she hadn't made their porridge yet.  
"I'm getting to it, I'm getting to it!" she grumbled while dumping some oats into a pot, "be patient!".  
Brynn, the oldest son brightened slightly and went to stand next to her, watching her every move while the younger ones, 'the twins' as everyone would call them ran around the room chasing each other.  
Then it hit her, while pouring some of the hot oats with milk into bowls for the boys.  
'Gawain!, _shit!_' _Was the knight alright? What if he'd died while she'd been lost in nonsensical dreams of things that couldn't be?  
_She twirled around, her brothers as always not noticing any of her distress.  
Her eyes found the mound of furs and blankets; it moved softly with the movement of the young knight's breathing, and she let loose the breath that she hadn't known she was holding.  
Sacha went on with her chores throughout the morning; helping her mother wash their clothes and completing her chores, but all the while watching the cot out of the corner of her eye. Her mother had been told about the injured knight - but having been sent out to tend her sister who was pregnant with her first child, barely had a chance to see him before the men came to take him to the infirmary. Sacha avoided the questions in her mother's eyes and looked after her brothers, barely looking up when Gawain left.  
After saluting her mother and Sacha and thanking them for their hospitality, the knight hobbled off with the men. Out of the house but certainly not out of Sacha's mind.  
Sacha didn't see Gawain again for that following week.  
She looked for him in an underhand way, while she walked the streets to visit Yanna just outside town, she would glimpse into every alley and every little nook and cranny.  
Sacha didn't tell anyone about Gawain, because to her shock everybody already knew about the time they had spent together - it seemed they knew even more than her!  
Yanna giddily told her that Gawain was one of the fairest knights, and the most 'wanted' one.  
"He has _at least_ conceived a handful of children, all with different women!" she exclaimed one sunny afternoon while they were sitting just outside town in the meadow.  
Somehow her comments about this so called heroic knight stung Sacha; he didn't seem all that special or valiant to her at all, or at least that was what she tried to tell herself.  
"I would have him you know,.." Yanna then sighed dreamily.  
Sacha just nodded and raised one shoulder imperceptibly.  
'_so this is what he's like, all the stories didn't lie"  
_"His fellows are probably going to come get him soon" Sacha said, she didn't say it because she knew it was true, but she said it to hurt Yanna, to burst her Gawain love bubble.  
It had quite the opposite effect, for the eyes of the young woman next to her went big and she clasped her hands in delight before tittering excitedly. "More knights!"  
Sacha just huffed; what about all the things Gawain had told her?  
About that they were only men trying to live, or something of the kind.  
She had tried to listen to what he had said, but she had been so astonished that he had kissed her, that paying attention had proven difficult.  
Yanna was now amicably telling her about Lancelot, one of the 'best' as she referred to him.  
Sacha just pondered why Gawain was avoiding her.  
Had she been a bad kisser?  
Surely that could not have been it, she'd never had any complaints from Fynn, the stable boy.  
But that _had_ been at least a year ago - what if she had forgotten how to kiss?  
No that couldn't be it either, for it had seemed fine, actually very enjoyable at the time, and Gawain certainly hadn't looked repulsed when they had broken away from each other's embrace.  
But then why was her knight not coming to look for her?  
After all she had been the one who jerked the arrow from his shoulder.  
Then it hit her, that must have been it!  
He had wanted to thank her, saw no other way and did it the way he did. _They, the knights,_ did. It had been a kiss borne of duty rather than passion, and inwardly her heart sank.  
Later that day Yanna left and Sacha entertained herself by lying in the snow watching the stale grey skies.  
She had liked the way he smelled;he had smelled like a man;he had felt like one too when he had taken her in his arms. Sacha realized that she had never really _smelled_ a man, except from her father's and uncle's sweaty armpits.  
But there are different kinds of smelling.  
Simply smelling their body odour, or really taking them in.  
Lying there, Sacha suddenly realized something.  
She was not the only one who had appealed to him.  
She _is_ not the only one whose attention he held.  
And while the grey of her breath in the cold air slowly turned into blue, she rested there reflectively, thinking of the other breaths that moved him, the other voices that called him, the other hands that had caressed him.  
It started snowing softly, and Sacha was freezing, but her thinking wasn't over yet, so she stayed right where she was.  
Who had he dreamed of that night she had tended him?  
Women that knew things about pleasing men, probably. Women he would seek out as soon as he was free of their little village. Women that were not her.  
And Sacha watched the night there,  
Waiting to be his only wish, although she would _never_ admit that.

* * *

Gawain watched the firelight flicker, the logs occasionally spitting and casting the shadows of his fellow knights onto the trees, and dimly realised that only a few weeks ago he would have given anything to have been here.  
Alright so it wasn't home - not really; home was with his family, in a country far across the ocean. A place that was getting blurrier with each passing year, but the knights were the closest thing to family he had, and when he had thought himself dying in the snow his greatest fear was that he would die without them by his side. Glancing across at Bors who was half dozing in the clearing where Arthur had made camp, Gawain thought of the older man's two children. Bors loved Vanora and his two boys, of that there was no question, but in tying himself to them he had essentially severed any hope of going back to Samartia.  
Could he himself do the same? Thinking back, he tried to picture his mother's face. She'd worn a blue dress when he'd been wrenched from her arms and tossed onto the pommel of a Roman soldier's saddle, but beyond that he couldn't recall much other than dark hair and soft songs when the thunder rolled over the mountains. Could he find his way back home if he lived long enough to gain his freedom? And even if he could, his mother had bid farewell to a child - he was now a battle hardened young man who killed when he was told to do so. Perhaps it would be better to leave his family with the memory of the child rather than the horror of the man that he had been forced to become.  
Shifting uncomfortably, he awakened a twinge of pain in his shoulder. The arrow wound had mended fairly well, although the healing of it had ultimately caused more pain than the Woads who had shot him.  
Sacha…. Her little village had been burned to the ground a week after he had left it, taking with it the lives of most of whom had lived there. If it hadn't been for a Roman troop they had met returning from scouting the northern provinces, he might not have known about it at all. Guilt suffused him, and Gawain stared into the fire for so long that his eyes hurt. It had been a Woad attack; one that had probably been provoked by the village sheltering him and returning him to his brothers.  
The village had burnt because of him. Sacha had died because of him.  
Short tempered, sharp tongued and exasperating, she'd nonetheless been kind and gentle in her own way. Unwillingly dredging up the memory of her in his arms when she had kissed him so sweetly, he quickly shoved it away again. It wasn't right that her first kiss had also been her last. She was supposed to have gone on to find some nice man who could offer the security that he could not.  
Shifting himself on his blanket, Gawain pretended to be asleep when Tristan passed him. The young hawk that sat on his shoulder watched him with eyes almost as sharp as its master's, but Gawain ignored them both. The older man had to have known that he was only pretending to sleep, but he said nothing to Gawain as he made sure the campsite was secure. Tristan had many talents but an easy conversationalist he was not, and so Gawain listened to the scout walk off with relief. He'd endured first joking from his brothers when they had found out about Sacha - Bors and Lancelot in particular had been keen to know whether he had shared her bed or not, and then after finding out the fate of her village, tentative expressions of concern. Neither had been welcome.  
By evening tomorrow they would be back at Hadrians Wall - home again, if you could call a glorified cage a home - older, wiser and filled with yet more regrets. Arthur touched him on the shoulder as he walked past him on the way to his own bedroll and Gawain tried not to resent him for the gesture. Slavery would have perhaps been easier to bear if he served under one of the many callous Roman officers who treated his men as expendable cattle, rather than one who understood their pain and grieved for it. At least then he would have had hatred to sustain him. _All men are slaves in some way, _Gawain thought bitterly, curling up into his blanket, _be it by duty or regret. _Closing his eyes, he tried not to wonder whether the Woads had killed Sacha before they had burnt her little house to the ground.

* * *

The fort was as he remembered it, Gawain acknowledged as they clattered through the huge gate into the courtyard. Protected by the serpentine length of Hadrian's Wall, it was hardly welcoming, but as the place he had been stationed at longest, it was the closest thing that he had to a home in Britain. Children hung over the battlements to see the new arrivals before being dragged away by their mothers, soldiers eyed the knights with varying degrees of distrust, and as they rode further into the heart of the fortress, a couple of tavern girls flitted from the shadows and licked their lips lasciviously at the knights. Gawain paid them no attention. Leading his horse into the stables, he gave a brief smile as Bors was forced to sling an irate Vanora over his shoulder and march her off to their quarters, chucking his horses' reins at a resigned Dagonet as he did so. Arthur left to brief his superiors on what had been happening while the rest of the knights settled their mounts.  
There was something soothing about taking care of his horse, Gawain thought, not for the first time. The grey mare he had been given after the loss of his treacherous bay had abandoned him in the snow was sweet natured, and bent her head obligingly as he slid her bridle off. Accepting a brush from a stable lad, he brushed her coat until it shone and left her munching on a pile of hay, feeling calmer than he had in weeks. Walking out of the stables, he debated on what to do next. It was Arthur's rule that after a mission his knights had at least five days to themselves - a rule that all the knights knew he had fought hard for against his fellow Romans, and one that they took full advantage of. The baths were tempting, as was his bed, but they were quiet places, and Gawain wasn't sure if he wanted to have the silence that would allow his sorrow and guilt to surface. Instead he turned towards the tavern, towards the light and the oblivion its ale could offer.  
Inside was the hustle and bustle that he remembered. Off duty soldiers, farmers and tradesmen mingled far more freely than they did without the alcohol that blurred the boundaries that separated them. In the far corner Lancelot had managed to persuade a couple of men to join him in a game of dice, and Galahad, who was watching them intently, gestured for Gawain to come over. Gawain shook his head, and instead found a table in one of the darker corners of the tavern. With his back to the rest of the patrons, he was perfectly situated to not only get well and truly drunk, but put off any attempts at conversation the other patrons might make. Giving the customary wave that signalled he wanted to be served, he studied the scarred table top and waited for one of the serving girls to come to him. With any luck it would be Freya, who was as quiet as her sister and fellow waitress, Shay, was ebullient.  
The yelp of suprise and cold river of ale that was suddenly dropped over his head, was an indication that neither Freya or Shay was serving him that evening. Jumping to his feet, Gawain turned to snarl his displeasure at the idiot who had drenched him, but found himself speechless instead.  
Sacha stared back at him with wide eyes, the big jug she was holding smashing to the ground with a noise that momentarily paused all conversation in the tavern. _She looked thinner from when he had last seen her, _Gawain noted, his thoughts whipping through his mind far faster than his body seemed to want to move. _There were dark circles under her eyes… _Nothing could stop the smile on his face from showing his sheer relief and joy at seeing her again, though.  
For a moment her eyes showed the same happiness, before she seemed to catch herself, and dropped down to the ground to pick up the broken pieces of the pitcher she had been carrying. Hair falling over her face, her expression was unreadable, and when Gawain handed her a couple of shards to add to her pile, she hesitated as though unwilling to touch him. _As well she might, _he suddenly realised. _After all, it was his fault that her village had burned, his fault that she was forced here now, along with her family… Her family…  
_"Sacha?" He asked quietly. She didn't look up from gathering the bits of broken pottery, and so he gently took her wrist to still her. "What happened? Where is your family?"  
There were tears in her eyes when she met his gaze, but not the hatred or accusation that he had expected.  
"Woads came, burnt the village down. Da died fighting, but Ma got the rest of us into the woods in time. Some of the others too…" She shoved the tears away with the back of her hand. "We came here - at least there's work to be found."  
Letting go of Sacha, Gawain settled back on his haunches and felt a black despair seep through his veins. _If only he hadn't been shot, if only he had died out there in the snow instead of bringing down such horror on the people who had tried to help him…  
_"If Alexion wasn't dead then I swear I'd tear him apart with my bare hands," Sacha said with such venom that he had to fight the urge to back away from her.  
"Alexion?" The name was vaguely familiar, but slightly thrown, Gawain couldn't place it.  
"The bastard, who was stupid enough to kill the son of that Woad elder," Sacha spat out, looking at Gawain as though he were simple for not having the faintest idea what she was talking about. His confusion must have registered finally, and she sat back on her haunches. "Didn't you hear about what happened to us? I thought you didn't want to…" She quickly bit back what she had been about to say, her cheeks blushing.  
At a loss for words, Gawain recognised her embarrassment, the rising colour in her face and felt completely confused. "I thought the Woads destroyed your village because you and your kin sheltered me," he said slowly. "I thought that you were dead."  
Sacha paused at that and looked at him askance from beneath the curtain of her hair. Alexion was half Roman - we trade, _traded_", she corrected herself quickly, "with Romans all the time. The Woads let us alone so long as we let them alone."  
"Then why…"  
Sacha glared at him for the interruption, but the look in her eyes was more tentative hope than the guarded resentment they had shown earlier, Gawain noted.  
"Alexion shot one of the Woads - he said it was an accident, but there are rumours about him and a Woad girl he tried to," Sacha dropped her eyes. "You know _force…_" Making a half-hearted effort to meet Gawain's gaze she shrugged. "It all happened within a couple of hours. Turned out the boy he shot was the son of the Woad leader and they weren't very forgiving about the whole thing. It was just luck that as many of us escaped that did."  
"But you're alright?" Gawain spoke without thinking, relief that Sacha was alive and that he hadn't caused the death of dozens of innocent people warring with horror at what she had said.  
"I'm fine," she said stiffly. The pieces of her broken jug were cradled in her arms, and she looked at him with wounded eyes. "I'll bring you a new pitcher and leave you to whoever you were waiting for."  
"Waiting for?" Gawain repeated blankly.  
"Whichever girl you have at the fort," Sacha repeated. "You can't tell me that you were going to sit alone in the shadows all night without company."  
The snort of laughter he gave was entirely the wrong thing to do, Gawain realised when the girl spun on her heel and marched towards the kitchen.  
"Sacha, stop!" running after her, he grabbed her by the arm and turned her to face him. "I came to mourn not to flirt. I thought that you were dead. I've spent the last few weeks wishing I were as well - I thought I'd killed you."  
Her dark eyes were bright with confusion, but something in his expression must have reassured her, because she put the broken bits of jug on the table and looked at him warily.  
"You thought that because my village sheltered you, it was attacked?"  
"Yes," he replied honestly.  
"You thought that I was dead because of you."  
"Yes."  
She seemed a bit nonplussed by that, before visibly getting her wits about her again.  
"Well then, as you can see there's no need to worry - I'm fine. Would you like me to send over Danae or Tara?" Sacha nodded towards two of the tavern whores who were looking at the young knight with interest. Her voice was controlled and polite, and Gawain had to try hard to force his irritation down.  
"No, Sacha, I have no interest in them nor any other woman in the fort," he said with equal civility. " I would rather you joined me when you have finished your shift so that I can talk to you."  
"Oh." She looked defiant, but the sparkle in her eyes and the flush that coloured her cheeks gave her true feelings away, and so Gawain felt absolutely no guilt in taking her into his arms and kissing her soundly.  
"That might be nice," she said shakily once she had gotten her breath back. Pushing her hair behind her ears carefully she gave him a small smile. "You have very strange ways of talking - is that a Samartian custom?"  
"Yes." Meeting her eyes, Gawain's heart leapt when he saw the desire he felt echoed in hers. "It's a complicated language, but I'll teach you if you like."  
"I might like that." Picking up the broken pottery, she looked ruefully at Vanora who had entered the tavern and was not impressed at her newest serving girl chatting when she should be working. "It seems that I have a lot to learn."  
Watching as the slight girl slid through the crowd, Gawain smiled, his heart lighter than he could remember it being in years. Yes, she had a lot to learn, but so did he, and if the Gods were kind then perhaps they would get a chance to learn together.

* * *

Several weeks later when the tavern was almost empty and only the echo of Vanora scolding her children resounded through the building, Sacha rested her head against Gawain's shoulder. His hair was longer than she remembered it, and twisting it idly around her finger, she looked up from her perch upon his lap.  
"Your hair has grown," she said with a smile. "Doesn't it get in the way?"  
The blond knight gave a huff of amusement and settled her more comfortably against him.  
"A pretty girl told me that she liked it, so I thought I'd let it grow." His mouth twitched as though he had to bite back a smile, and Sacha tried to smother her own amusement.  
"Smart girl." Shifting slightly, she drew back from the young knight and deftly caught a handful of Gawain's hair, glaring at him when he opened his mouth to protest. Within a moment she had twisted it into a neat plait that drew the strands that fell over his face away from his eyes.  
"There." Looking at her handiwork approvingly, Sacha smiled. "Now you can see _and _you look pretty."  
"Pretty." Gawain rolled his eyes. "I'm a warrior, you know. I'm not _pretty. _Perhaps I should shave my head…."  
"You do that and you sleep alone," Sacha retorted. "How am I supposed to recognize you when you come back from battle. The gods know I get worried enough watching Arthur and you lot returning from battle. At least I can see you easily when you've got this tangle." She patted Gawain's hair gently. "Keep it? For me?"  
"Fine." the blond knight gave a sigh and pulled the woman in his arms a little closer. "I won't cut my hair if you promise to stay and braid it so it doesn't get in my eyes."  
Sacha pretended to consider the deal before nodding. "Fair enough."

* * *

_It was a silly little promise_, Sacha thought three years later as she watched the knights canter towards the fort, _but it was one that they had both kept.  
_Gawain's golden hair gleamed in the sun as he looked up and searched for her - each braid both a marking of time and faith, and Sacha smiled when he met her eyes. After she had fed and bathed him, they would have news to share; for from the swelling of her belly, next year there would not only be another braid in his hair but another pair of eyes watching for his safe return.


End file.
